


Accidental Rewind

by myriadofrainbows



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crack, Humor, Sarcasm, Sassy, The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2019-09-27 15:06:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17164235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myriadofrainbows/pseuds/myriadofrainbows
Summary: Harry is increasingly suspicious of how his life is going too smooth-sailing. Draco just wants to get their mission done before they turn into old fossils. In which forty-nine year old Unspeakable partners Harry and Draco really should have known better than to underestimate the cursed Potter luck and end up travelling back in time after an accident on a mission.





	1. In which all was (suspiciously) well

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all its related characters belong to J.K. Rowling  
> AN: This fic takes place years after the epilogue in Deathly Hallows so the events that have occurred up till then will be taken as such (with some changes but generally things are the same, the next-gen kids all exist etc). Harry and Draco end up travelling back in time as a result of an accident. This fic will largely be a half-crack, half-serious piece about their antics after they have travelled back in time.

All was well.

In fact, everything was going so perfectly well that Harry was beginning to feel just a tad suspicious about his wonderful turn of luck. Sure, some might call him cynical for his wariness towards a normal, smooth-sailing life, but Harry had spent the past forty-nine years of his existence battling an insane dark lord, annoying reporters and everything under the sun the universe liked to hurl in his path, that the extended period of peace and quiet was starting to unsettle him a little. He had every right to his reservations (Alastor Moody was the most paranoid bastard he knew and even he could end up kidnapped and imprisoned in his own magical trunk).

“Are you going to be done brooding over your wonderfully perfect life anytime soon? You’ve only been doing that for the past, I don’t know, five days or so? Anymore and you’ll end up with more wrinkles. Though I can’t say that that wouldn’t be an improvement, at least we won’t have to spend more time disguising your face when we go on missions.”

The familiar snarky voice jerked him out of his reverie, and Harry paused to clutch his hand to his chest before gasping incredulously, “Draco, are you calling me old?”

A snort (though Draco would deny till his dying breath that it was one, “Malfoys don’t snort, that is undignified behaviour only uncultured plebeians engage in.”) “You’re half a century old, that’s almost a fossil already.”

Harry could already feel the grin stretching across his face. “Have you forgotten that you’re actually older than me? By fifty-five days to be exact, you prehistoric dinosaur.”

Draco sniffed, “I look much younger than you, you geriatric. And for the last time, dinosaurs and dragons are not the same! Dragons are a much superior species.”

Harry burst out laughing at the mock-affronted look on Draco’s face and Draco couldn’t help but join him.

Their friendship was an unlikely one, but perhaps it was what made their bond stronger. If someone told Harry when he was fifteen that Draco Malfoy would become one of his closest friends, his first thought would be that the person had obviously suffered some form of brain damage and that a stay in the Janus Thickey ward at St. Mungo’s was very much in order. Now, at forty-nine, he counted Draco as one of his most trusted confidants.

It started out as a somewhat shaky acquaintanceship after the war. They had exchanged a few words after Harry testified for the Malfoys during the Death Eater trials and paid a visit to Malfoy Manor to return Draco’s hawthorn wand. Then came the awkward sessions where both of them babysat Teddy while Andromeda and Narcissa went out for “sister time”, which was really just a nicer way of saying “gossip session” (the Black sisters had reconciled with each other). At that point, they had moved onto sort-of friends before –

_“-and the last pair will be Potter and Malfoy. I trust that all of you will take your training seriously and will not allow any personal feelings or conflict to affect your responsibilities as an Unspeakable.” With that the Chief Unspeakable ended his speech, surveying the four pairs of new recruits with his steely gaze. It was an unusually large number, but there was much rebuilding to be done in Department of Mysteries in the aftermath of the war. They were both just lucky enough to be judged to have aptitude for and invited for Unspeakable training._

It was only really through the numerous trials and tribulations thrown at them in the name of nurturing them to be fully-fledged members of the most esteemed and honourable Department of Mysteries (“It should be renamed Department of Loonies-high-on-whatever-magical-dust-is-floating-around” Draco had muttered under his breath when they had been tasked to take apart, count and reassemble Time-Turners to ensure that each one contained exactly 777 grains of time dust) that their close bond had truly formed.

None of their friends or family knew the truth about their status as members of the ever elusive department on Level 9. In a bid to tighten security and prevent further slip-ups due to exposed identities of Unspeakables, new incoming members were all given cover jobs to hide the fact that they actually worked on Level 9. To the rest of the world, Harry and Draco were Hit-Wizards that worked in a special division of the Aurors that dealt with cases that necessitated utmost discretion and hence all aspects of their work were hush-hush (though that wasn’t entirely untrue as some of their missions did involve dangerous outfield work that would be absolute disasters if word got out about them).

Operating in secrecy, with only each other to watch your backs, when one wrong move meant the difference between being alive and coming out as a mangled corpse, worked wonders in trust building.

Slowly, over the course of their partnership, they began to confide in each other, things which were kept secrets even from their oldest, best friends. Draco learned about Harry’s childhood, how he had been conditioned to intentionally do worse in school as a result of the Dursley’s upbringing, how becoming an Unspeakable helped him change that, that there was no shame in wanting to be more knowledgeable, even delving into more obscure texts from the Malfoy and Black libraries together. Harry learned about Draco’s tenuous relationship with his father, how he had grown up doing everything to gain his acknowledgement but never receiving it, how he still saw Crabbe’s face in the flames even if they weren’t Fiendfyre. Though Ron and Hermione were his best friends and Ginny his wife, the person who knew him the best was Draco Malfoy (and wasn’t that a thought, Draco Malfoy: expert on all things Harry Potter).

Their children had even grown up together, gone to Hogwarts together and still travelled in the same circles after graduating. It was still a conundrum how Rose and Scorpius managed to have a relationship let alone get engaged when he and Albus were practically conjoined at the hip and you could never find one without the other.

Still, the most hectic days of his life seemed to be over at last and maybe he should just be thankful for this well-deserved peaceful tranquillity.

“Move your lazy arse, we’ll really become relics of a past era if you don’t unglue your arse from that chair.” Draco grumbled, waving their latest case file one hand, gesturing rudely with the other towards the chair Harry was lounging on in the middle of their rather spacious office (there were perks to having an entire floor for your department).

“Such a ray of sunshine you are, dearest.” Snickering, Harry dodged the case file that came whizzing dangerously close past his neck and swung on his cloak in one movement.

He really should have known better that this was just the calm before the storm (he should just trust his instincts dammit they saved him from a hell-bent murdering dark lord after all).


	2. Murphy’s Law Sucks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everything that can go wrong goes wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all its related characters belong to J.K. Rowling  
> AN: Happy New Year! Hope you enjoy this chapter.

It was supposed to be an easy mission.

Well, easy could be rather relative, but the mission was really just standard Unspeakable fare. Target obsessed with something they had no business poking their nose in? Check. Target hiding away in some dilapidated, abandoned structure miles away from the nearest human civilisation? Check. Target stole something from the Department of Mysteries? Check. Really, what in Merlin’s name was security doing these days? How were they supposed to be the Department of _Mysteries_ if random strangers managed to waltz in and steal artefacts from right under their noses? (For the record, neither Harry nor Draco were around when this breach of security happened. They were simply the ones sent to retrieve the stolen goods and would like to add that _had_ they been around, none of this blasphemy would have occurred.)

Also, not to seem like they were boasting or anything, but Draco and Harry were among the best Unspeakables the department had to offer: they currently held the record for the highest number of successful cases, their teamwork was flawless, and really, what more could one ask for? This was hardly the hardest case they had been assigned. They had been on many infinitely more dangerous and _special_ cases, even one that involved a smuggling ring at a nude resort (that band of criminals were admittedly rather clever and unorthodox).

So, really, with a scope like this and very experienced persons on the job (“Overqualified,” Draco drawled, “but I suppose this job requires careful expertise and Merlin knows the newbies have the finesse of a Blast-Ended Skrewt.”) the case wasn’t supposed to take more than a day given how much information had already been compiled in the case file.

The documents had correctly stated where their target had holed up in to conduct his illegal experiments. They haven’t had to expend the effort to track down the idiot, they just apparated to the location indicated by the coordinates on the file. They didn’t even have to do much to tear the wards down, only the barest of wards were put up and they were about as flimsy as the thinnest piece of parchment.

“He’s definitely no Ravenclaw,” Harry mused, “no Ravenclaw would be stupid enough to perform illegal research with stolen materials and security as shitty as this. Even a Fifth Year could construct better wards.”

“Gryffindor then? You lot are known for your impulsiveness. This one obviously got giddy over his successful theft and in his overexcitement and overconfidence didn’t think to cover his tracks properly.”

Harry pouted, “You wound me, how dare you, insulting my line like that?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Are you going so senile that I need to remind you of the fact that only one of your spawn was sorted into the house of lions?”

“Says the one that has already has a receding hairline,”

“I wouldn’t dignify that with a reply. Come on, let’s go.”

They crept onto the property silently, wands held at the ready, spells at the tip of their tongues. Though disillusioned, they were acutely aware of where the other was, completely in sync with each other.

The building looked even worse on the inside than it did from outside. It was filthy and appeared to be a risk of collapsing in on itself from a strong gust of wind. Despite not being able to see him, Harry could practically picture the expression of utter disdain and disgust for their surroundings on Draco’s face and had to stifle a laugh.

The stunner that left Draco’s wand was perfectly executed and timed with the disarming charm that left Harry’s wand; silent, the streams of red light hitting their target right on the mark. Harry hastened to slap on some magic-sealing handcuffs on their unconscious target (for the rare, but not entirely impossible, chance that the stunning spell wore off and their target was miraculously able to summon a feat of wandless magic – they had learnt early on that desperation was not to be underestimated).

“Well, he’s definitely our target, all the descriptions in the file are right then.” Draco remarked after casting a slew of revealing charms on the wizard lying on the floor.

“Uhh, maybe not all right. How far into his research and experiments did the file say he was?”

“Nothing much, just that he managed to steal some time dust from the department and was trying to create some sort of device similar to a Time-Turner. Instead of transporting the user back in time, it would be able to turn back the physical time of the user so that he would be able to reverse the natural ageing process of the human body. Want to take a guess at his end goal?”

“To become immortal? I would never have guessed, how utterly unpredictable, what a novel idea.” Harry deadpanned.

“Right in one, ten points to Gryffindor.”

“Jokes aside, you might want to see this.” The strained undertone in Harry’s voice gave Draco pause and he stepped around the body to peer through the doorway Harry had entered to investigate.

“Fuck.”

There really wasn’t a better way to put it. The monstrosity in the room looked like someone had taken a Time-Turner and hit it with more than a few _Engorgios_. Where a chain would have been on a regular Time-Turner, what seemed to be a crudely made human-sized casket lay instead. The hour glass was glittering with a force that rivalled a thousand suns (how Draco missed that from the other room was a mystery), but the worst part was –

“How the fuck did he get his hands on this much time dust?”

“I know, the file only mentioned a small vial missing. This is worrying.”

“Worrying? This has just shot past major emergency and right into further than fucking Tartarus levels of hell disaster!”

“First, we need to figure out how to transport this safely back to Level 9 without triggering anything, get out of here before the bloody roof falls on our heads, and throw that bastard into a cell so that we can interrogate h-”

***crack***

If Draco was a basilisk, Harry would be dead ten times over, his eyes blazing with murderous intent.

“Harry I swear –”

***crack***

“ _Protego Maxima!_ ”

The hastily put-up shield charm protected them from the rubble that once made up the ceiling, but the impact threw them right into the monstrous contraption. If possible, the thing glittered even brightly as the hour glass spun at an alarming speed. The last thing Draco heard before losing consciousness to a flash of blinding light was –

“Murphy’s Law sucks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: The smuggling ring case is a sort-of reference to a fic I read a while back about Auror partners Harry and Draco who had to pretend to be newlyweds while investigating a case.


	3. Things Change (some don’t)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which it's nice to know that even when the world gets thrown round the bend some things don't change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all its related characters belong to J.K. Rowling  
> AN: A little late but Happy New Year!

Something didn’t feel quite right with his body.

Scratch that, more than a few things didn’t feel quite right; Harry’s back _ached_ , he felt cramped up like he had been stuffed somewhere too small and had a splitting headache comparable to when Voldemort was having one of his temper tantrums and throwing _Crucios_ around like candy.

When Harry finally cracked his eyes open, everything was blurry. He could vaguely make out that he seemed to be in the tiniest space possible and flinched (Merlin, were those _cobwebs_ dangling in front of his face? Draco’s clean freak tendencies must have been rubbing off him.). Fumbling clumsily, he patted the area around himself, grabbing what seemed to be his glasses and sliding them on.

Everything was _still_ blurry. Bloody fantastic. Even so, his vision was just a tiny bit clearer and as he took in his surroundings once more, he realised how oddly familiar it all was and a horrible feeling began to settle in his gut. The warning bells in his head started blaring and ringing up a storm. Another glance down at his body revealed scrawny stick-thin limbs nearly swallowed up by the ratty, most over-sized clothes ever.

No. _No_. The universe couldn’t possibly have it out for him _that much_. He had already been through more than enough for one lifetime. Not everything that had to go wrong would go wrong, right? This was probably all just a bad dream, a _very bad_ dream. He had likely been hit with a _Confundus_ and was just hallucinating, or someone had slipped him a befuddlement draught. Honestly, Harry would take _any_ option other than what seemed to be, unfortunately, the most likely.

***bang***

The cupboard door rattled and an all-too-unwelcome shrill voice rang out, “Why aren’t you awake yet boy? Hurry up, you good-for-nothing, breakfast won’t cook itself!”

Well, shit.

* * *

 

Miles away, in Wiltshire, Draco stared, slack-jawed in growing horror, at his supposedly long-dead (Harry had even shown him the grave!) former house-elf blabber away.

“Dobby is waking Young Master, yous father wants Young Master Draco in the Dining Room for breakfast. Dobby is sorry for waking Young Master Draco, Dobby must punish himself!”

“Stop!” The elf paused, eyes wide, one hand already on the poker from Draco’s fireplace.

“No punish Dobby?”

“No, no, I’ll get up. You, just go do…whatever you’re supposed to do.” Draco was just about to praise himself for the ability to speak in coherent sentences in the face of a formerly-dead house-elf when –

“Young Master Draco is too kind to Dobby! Dobby is thankful!” The elf abruptly burst into tears then popped away.

What in Merlin’s name was this? The impending headache was already starting to settle in. Draco closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them again. He clearly recognised his childhood bedroom in Malfoy Manor. The décor was just as he remembered; the rich dark woods and artfully placed green silk draping – even the stuffed toy dragon (named Draco – after himself of course) he used to hug to sleep was on the bed.

Okay, somehow he found himself in the past. If he had to guess, he would say he was about six to eight years old. The main question was _how_ the hell it happened.

He sighed and shook his head. First, breakfast. He could always think about this mind-fuckery of a situation after his stomach was filled.

* * *

 

Harry was acting on auto-pilot and relying on pure muscle memory as he put the kettle on and moved to prepare the bacon. He was extremely glad his body still remembered the motions, he didn’t want to be yelled at (it was already a rather nasty surprise to see his horsey aunt, whale uncle and pig cousin again after more than three decades.).

He had caught a glimpse of the date after squinting at the morning paper (which the Dursleys never read anyway) left on the table. _16 August 1987_ were the tiny words printed in black ink. The last thing he could recall was his mission with Draco and that was _16 August 2029_. For Merlin’s sake that wasn’t even in the same _millennium_.

Harry quickly started a mental list of the things he knew:

  1. They had very obviously royally fucked up on their last mission.
  2. The stupid bastard who had invented the damn contraption that landed them in this situation had also very obviously royally fucked up in his research and experimentation. This was most definitely not the result that the imbecile had been aiming for.
  3. Unlike with an ordinary Time-Turner, he had travelled back more than twenty-four hours. He had, to be exact, travelled _42 bloody fucking years_
  4. Also unlike with an ordinary Time-Turner, there weren’t two Harrys in this time. He didn’t have to be careful to avoid his seven year old self in case he caused some paradoxical issues. He _was_ his _seven year old_ self.
  5. He was in his _seven year old_   body. Which meant the Dursleys. Which meant he was back to being a human house-elf. Which meant – wait a minute was he a horcrux _again_? Blast Voldy’s seven bits of soul to hell, there was already too much going on as it is.



Harry had to bite his lip to contain the fit of hysterical laughter threatening to escape him. The situation was beyond screwed up.

He needed help. He needed to contact Draco. Together, they had gotten out of the most outrageous situations, crawled out from deepest pits of an abyss trying to suck them back in (mostly) intact. The question was how. (He tried very hard not to think about the extremely terrifying possibility that they hadn’t travelled back to the same time and Harry was all alone.)

* * *

 

Draco signed off the letter with a flourish, returning the quill back to its stand. He scanned the words written on the parchment with smug satisfaction, preening, before rolling it up and reaching for the wax seal. He was _such_ a genius, they really ought to reward him an _Order of Merlin, First Class_ for his intelligence.

While this had certainly been one of the most mind-boggling experiences he had, he was fairly confident in his first course of action. Eyes gleaming, he turned to the house-elf gazing adoringly at him.

“Now, Dobby, I have a job of utmost importance for you to accomplish. I need you to deliver this letter to Harry Potter personally. Make sure that Harry is alone when you pass this to him. Remember, no one else should see you and… ”

* * *

 

Harry needn’t have worried.

Still, he had the shock of his life (he had enough of those already thank you very much) when Dobby materialised right in front of him and he nearly toppled off the rock which he had been perched on, having chosen to hide away in the most secluded corner of the park to think as well as escape Dudley and his gang.

With trembling hands, he slowly unfurled the roll of parchment, eyes darting across the obnoxiously (yet comfortingly) familiar flowing cursive script. The tension dissipated in an instant and he couldn’t help but chuckle when he was done.

_Harry,_

_Firstly, WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!_

_You really must have the most wretched luck in the entirety of the whole bloody universe. I would implore you to watch your words, but knowing you, any advice just goes flying out your other ear, you absolute wanker._

_We need to meet, obviously. Would The Chosen One like to make a recommendation on a time and location for our delightful little rendezvous?_

_In the meantime, we can conduct our correspondence through Dobby. I trust that your brain cells have yet to reach the stage of complete uselessness, so I shall be generous and assume you recognise who he is._

_Your most wonderful friend,_

_Draco_

It was written in such a typical Draco fashion; the vulgarity mixed with the haughty language, expensive parchment and ink, with the fancy penmanship, that Harry couldn’t stop the fond smile he was wearing.

“Hey Dobby, could I have some parchment and a quill please?”

The elf _beamed_.

* * *

 

 


	4. Midnight McDonald’s Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Featuring greasy fast food, overly snarky seven year olds and a declaration to take over the world (kinda)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all its related characters belong to J.K. Rowling  
> AN: Thank you so, so much for the lovely comments! Reading them really brightened up my day. Also, I feel like this chapter ended up with way too much dialogue but oh well. Let me know what you think!

“You look like hippogriff dung.” Draco remarked while lazily leaning back on the seat in the booth he had commandeered for them, popping a chip in his mouth, the perfect picture of casual arrogance. It greatly amused Harry how much of a pureblood prat Draco could still be even de-aged and sitting in a fast food restaurant.

“How charming,” Harry huffed testily, collapsing in the seat opposite Draco. Merlin, he was starving, in the many years that passed he had evidently forgotten how much the Dursleys adored food deprivation (and endless stream of chores) as his punishment. He eyed the selection on the tray, passing over the still unwrapped cheeseburger and the large cup of what he knew to be coke (he still didn’t know how Draco never got diabetes with his sweet tooth and how much sugar he consumed), before reaching out to nick a chip from the greasy pile, only to have his hand swatted away.

“Mine! Go get your own, and get me more ketchup while you’re at it.” Rolling his eyes, Harry snorted at the demand and protective hoarding action.

“And how do you suppose I do that? I don’t have any money with me and don’t you think the cashier will have anything to say about a seven year old boy buying a meal at, let’s see, 12.14am? In fact, I’m surprised they haven’t noticed two children in McDonald’s without their parents after midnight.” Draco gave him a droll stare.

“Well, of course I had Dobby cast a notice-me-not charm on this booth, I’m so impressed by your astounding observational skills. Now go get your own food!”

A ten pound note was shoved in his hands and he was waved towards the counter. Harry resisted the heavy urge to roll his eyes again.

* * *

 

“They really need to invent self-ordering kiosks sooner. I swear the cashier was going to start asking questions, she was already giving me _the_ eye.” Grumbling, Harry flopped down on the seat, taking a large sip of his chocolate milkshake. Technology really was fantastic in the future, so much could be done with just one button or voice command, too bad they were stuck in the twentieth century. Merlin, he missed the internet, Google was great when he didn’t have Hermione around to be his walking encyclopaedia and sounding board for advice.  

“Aww, poor itty baby Harry. Whatever happened to loving the Muggles?”

Harry shot Draco a dirty look, “You sound like your dear Aunt Bella. And it has nothing to do with Muggles, even if I had the _inestimable_ pleasure of seeing my magic-hating relatives again.”

“Ah yes, the whale, the horse and the pig? Sounds like Aunt Bella would enjoy them.”

At Harry’s disbelieving look, Draco continued, “Torturing them I mean. I’m sure their screams would make very lovely music for her. I think she would appreciate it more than Bach or Mozart anyway.”

“We’re not going to cruciate my relatives, no matter how much they deserve it.”

“I didn’t say anything about _us_ doing it. And who says it has to be the Cruciatus? There are plenty of ways to do it within the law, Cassiopeia Black even wrote a book about it; _Ten Thousand Ways to Torture One’s Enemies Legally_. Anyway, if we _do_ get caught, we could always argue that they’re animals and laws for humans don’t apply.”

Harry sighed, “You know what I mean. Enough about the Muggles, what are _we_ going to do about _us_?

“ _Us?_ Oh Darling, I never knew you felt that way!” Draco simpered, clasping his hands together, lashes fluttering.

Harry promptly responded by throwing a chip in Draco’s face.

Draco spluttered.

* * *

 

It was strangely comforting how easily they settled into their previous (or was it future?) normal given their current circumstances. Midnight McDonald’s Meetings, or Code 3M as Draco liked to call it (Harry was convinced that he just wanted a pretentious way to cover up the fact that his posh pureblood self enjoyed greasy Muggle fast food), were one of the key cornerstones to their partnership.

The very first time they had stumbled into a McDonald’s together, they had been Unspeakables fresh out of training, running headfirst into the Muggle world to hide after a serious blunder with the criminals they were supposed to be tracking. They had severely miscalculated the strength of their opponents and the _chasers_ had turned into the _chased_. With no back-up as well as the combined stubbornness of a Potter and a Malfoy to refuse to admit failure, they made a strategic retreat, slipping through the throngs of Muggles to avoid their pursuers (who like most wizards had _less than zero_ knowledge of blending in with Muggles) and regroup and think of a new plan.

While munching on chips and chowing down burgers, they concocted the most outrageous (but absolutely bloody brilliant) plan to take down their opponents. If they failed, they would be hurled face-first into a shit storm – getting fired would be the least of their concerns, they would be breaking more statutes than the number of galleons that made up their pay and to say the political fallout would be bad would be akin to saying Voldermort was as harmless as a flobberworm. If they succeeded (which they did), well, putting both Harry and Draco on the fast track for promotion (and granting them a brand new _spacious_ office) was the _least_ their supervisors could do.

Since then, Midnight McDonald’s Meetings had become somewhat of a staple in their friendship, sometimes for brainstorming (it didn’t hurt that some of their best plans were made amidst gorging on fast food), sometimes for ranting when they couldn’t go to a bar and get shit-faced drunk.

Anyway, back to the matter at hand…

“So, how do you figure how that damn thing managed to quite literally rewind our time? This isn’t even remotely close to what the idiot was trying to achieve.”

“Well, in case you have _already_ forgotten, that damn thing wasn’t your regular Ministry-issue Time-Turner, which in case you have _also_ forgotten is supposed to contain – ”

“Exactly 777 grains of time dust, yes I know, I _was_ with you when they made us take apart and reassemble dozens of those things.” Grumbling, Harry cursed his rotten luck as memories of the numerous _unfortunate_ (to put it mildly) events began to run through his mind.

“Aside from guessing what went wrong with _how to achieve immortality plan 1001_ , we also need to decide our next course of action. Trying to get back to our time isn’t exactly feasible since we don’t have the Time-Turner so we can’t try to reverse its effects…I don’t recall anything odd except for the size, it didn’t have any special runes or magic circles around it…”

Something in Draco’s musings caught Harry’s train of thoughts. Unbidden, a memory surfaced – a Gringotts vault, Hufflepuff’s cup, the Thief’s Downfall, Griphook, the painful burn of the _Geminio_ cursed objects…the size of the Time-Turner…

_Size._

“The time dust! Wasn’t only a small bottle stolen? There was definitely more than that in the Frankenstein Time-Turner!”

“But how – ”

“ _Geminio._ ”

Well, that certainly didn’t have any pretty implications. Stolen time dust was one matter. Stolen time dust that was magically _replicated_ was a bloody-fucking-murderous-dark-lords-rampaging-around level of disaster.

Lesson numero uno that every Unspeakable trainee received before even being allowed to stick a toe into the Time Room was that time dust was finicky as fuck. It was to be harvested on a specific day, at a specific time, using a _very_ specific method. A single mistake could end in varying results from the time dust being rendered ineffective to turning extremely volatile. In absolutely no way were they supposed to magically tamper with the time dust, _every_ Time-Turner had to be physically put together by hand, no magic was to be used even to _count_ the number of grains, that was how sensitive it was.

The fact that the time dust had not only been magically altered, but actually _multiplied_ spelled nothing but trouble (I mean look where they were now).

They sat in silence for a few moments, pondering.

“So, now what? I meant what I said, I don’t think we’ll be able to find a way back. We might have been top Unspeakables but we are currently seven year olds who don’t even have wands.”

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that, and really this _golden_ opportunity just landed on our laps…”

A pause.

“Potter, you _cannot_ be suggesting what I think your suggesting. Do you even know how many rules regarding the space-time continuum we would be breaking?”

And that had been lesson numero due for Unspeakable training in the Time Room – never, _ever_ , interfere and change the original course of time. Changing the future was a big no-no in the Department of Mysteries rulebook (which wasn’t so much a book but a whole volume of them, each one thicker than _A History of Magic_ ). Harry figured that since he had already broken that rule before even joining the Unspeakables, what with saving Sirius from dementor doom and Buckbeak from execution via Macnair with Hermione back in third year, they could probably just screw it.

“Unless the manual I read during training was vastly different from yours, I think I might have a rough idea. I can tell, you’re already considering it aren’t you? Come on, we could change _everything_.” Harry very pointedly let his gaze linger on Draco’s bare, tattoo-less left arm.

If Draco was being completely honest with himself, the idea was more than just appealing. This was quite literally a chance of a lifetime, they wouldn’t have been able to purposefully manipulate the situation to land up in these circumstances. Did he really want to look this gift horse in the mouth? It wasn’t just the dark lord, all those regrets… Besides, both of them had lived rather fulfilled lives anyway – they had watched their children grow up, reached the peak of their careers, there wasn’t much they could want for, but now…

“Let’s do it.”

“I knew you had some Gryffindor in you! Can you imagine, if we do this right, we could become the _most benevolent, awe-inspiring_ leaders of Magical Britain!” Harry threw his head back and laughed, emerald eyes glittering with joy.

“Only Britain? It should be the world – Potter just where is your ambition? Are you sure you were almost sorted into Slytherin?” Draco shot back, grinning.

Maybe, just maybe, they could make this work.

No, why was he even casting doubt, they would be _magnificent_ – the world wouldn’t know what hit it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: The bit about Cassiopeia Black and her book was taken from Growing Up Black by Elvendork Nigellus which I highly recommend even though it’s unfinished. It’s about Harry being taken in by the Black family and I just really love the brotherhood/close bond between Harry and Draco. Anyway, hope you guys enjoyed this chapter!


	5. Never Underestimate a Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter Narcissa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all its related characters belong to J.K. Rowling  
> AN: I know in canon Euphemia and Fleamont Potter are Harry’s grandparents but for the sake of the plot and because I greatly dislike the name Fleamont, Dorea will be his grandmother in this story. Sorry not sorry. Anyways, let me know your feedback for this chapter!

“So you mean to tell me, that my _seven year old son_ and _Harry Potter_ are not, in fact, seven year old boys but are actually forty-nine year old Unspeakables who, for reasons unknown, have managed to travel back more than forty years in time and whose consciousness reside in their seven year old selves.”

Harry and Draco winced involuntarily as the pair of ice blue eyes bored holes into their skulls. Narcissa Malfoy née Black could be _very_ scary and imposing should she wished to be. To those not in the know, Narcissa Malfoy appeared to be the stunning exemplar of a perfect pureblood wife; ever graceful and elegant, possessing exceptional beauty, a demure smile always present on her face – giving off the impression of a pretty but otherwise harmless witch. Those that _did_ know her knew the truth to be contrary to appearances. While her beauty and grace were unquestionable, that carefully cultivated image helped mask the knife-sharp edges into soft curves. Like the flower she had been aptly named after, the delicate petals and intoxicating sweet scent lured fools into a false sense of security before falling prey to the poison that ran through her veins.

It would be extremely unwise to forget that before she became a Malfoy, Narcissa was a Black, and no Black should ever be underestimated. Which was part of the reason Harry and Draco had decided to approach Narcissa for help. After much deliberation on their part, they had come to the conclusion that they needed the assistance of a trusted adult in order for any effective change to be imposed (they had to face the hard truth that as seven year olds, they were severely limited in what they could do regardless of previous experiences).

It came as a huge surprise (not) that the pool of adults that they could pick from was awfully small – Lupin was off somewhere in the world mourning the loss of his friends, struggling to make ends meet, and his furry little problem meant mounds of administrative red tape that had to be dealt with at the Ministry. Dumbledore was a manipulative, lemon drop sucking old goat, whose single-minded focus on the greater good immediately ruled him out of the running. Harry might have respected the man as a mentor and wizard enough to name his son after him but condemning him to a life with the Dursleys was so _not_ cool. Snape was a bitter, greasy old bat that they were better off not poking even with a ten-foot long pole – he was more likely to lecture them on the arrogance of Potters and how dare they do something as blasphemous as travelling back in time than actually helping them. The Unspeakables at the Department of Mysteries would most probably want to stick them under a magnifying glass to examine and their rules regarding time travel would greatly hinder any of Harry and Draco’s plans. Andromeda Tonks would have been an option except they had no excuse of knowing her at this point in time and thus were unable to approach her.

Which left them with Narcissa Malfoy née Black. She checked all the boxes in their list of requirements – they had an in with her as Draco’s mother, she was brave enough to go through with their grand plans to change the world (it took _more than guts_ to lie to a dark lord in his face), she was a Black (meaning she grew up practically surrounded by crazy) and above all, she loved Draco more than anything in the universe and would do _anything_ to ensure her son’s safety and happiness.

“Well, the reasons aren’t exactly completely unknown… we have a few guesses…” Harry trailed off uncertainly as the sub-zero degrees glare arrowed in on him.

The teacup made an audible clink as it met the saucer resting on the patio table.  

“Tell me _everything_.”

The two boys gulped as the surrounding temperature experienced a sudden drop.

Elsewhere on the manor grounds a muster of albino peacocks flapped restlessly at the sudden chill emanating from the patio.

* * *

 

“You will move in to the manor with us immediately. How dare those filthy Muggles treat a wizarding child as such!”

With the amount of vehemence blazing on Narcissa’s usually calm visage, Harry wouldn’t be surprised to find that the Dursleys would suffer more than just the original minor pigification of Dudley. Although the idea of leaving Number Four Privet Drive for good was incredibly tempting, there was a tiny problem…

“As much as I would like to take you up on that offer, I’m afraid I can’t.”

Narcissa arched a finely drawn brow challengingly, “From what you have described, I highly doubt you hold any sort of lingering affection for that household that might make you inclined to stay.”

“Oh goodness no, any sort of affection I might have had for them (if there was any to begin with) died ages ago. The problem is the moment I cease to call Number Four Privet Drive my home, the blood wards afforded by my mother’s sacrifice will fall and I’m quite certain Dumbledore has means which he uses to monitor those wards and would sense something is amiss. On the off chance that he isn’t watching the wards, the old squib that lives nearby would report to him if she doesn’t see me around the house at all.”

If possible, Narcissa’s gaze burned even more in anger.

“That meddling old goat!” She _growled_.  

* * *

 

After Harry and Draco were treated to a rant in which Narcissa called Dumbledore an old goat no less than five times and implied that he should mind his own business and choke on his damned lemon drops if he was so concerned _for the greater good_ , she finally calmed down somewhat.

“I apologise for my momentary loss of temper. Now, let us discuss your housing arrangements while we get Sirius out of Azkaban.” Narcissa took a sip of her tea, looking as regal as ever, no evidence to be found of her previous rage-fuelled rant.

They had decided earlier that getting Sirius acquitted from his non-existent crimes was rather high on their list of priorities. As Harry’s godfather and named guardian in case anything happened to James and Lily, a free Sirius would be able to fend off any attempts by Dumbledore to place Harry back at the Dursleys. As the falsely imprisoned last remaining male heir to the House of Black, the political fallout would serve as a convenient distraction while they tried to further their other aims (watching the Ministry fall over their feet to try and rectify their mistake was just another bonus).

“Cassiopeia Black would be a good option to for your temporary guardianship, your grandmother Dorea was her younger sister, making her more closely related to you than myself and thus more likely to be awarded guardianship if she contested it.”

“She’s the one that wrote that book I was telling you about the other day.” Draco piped up (un)helpfully. That made everything _so_ much better, to be placed under the care of the authoress of a book on torture was one of Harry’s life goals.

“What reason could she possibly have to contest my guardianship now of all times though?”

“This year is the tenth anniversary of your grandmother’s death. We are simply going to say that Cassiopeia is feeling sentimental and would like to reconnect with her dead sister through her grandson.”

Harry very much doubted that Cassiopeia Black had a sentimental bone in her body but wisely elected to stay silent.

Draco, on the other hand, had muttered, “I doubt that old crone knows the definition of sentiment.”

That had earned him an exasperated (but undeniably fond) glare from Narcissa.

“I am going to compose a letter to Cassiopeia now. Do you have any qualities that would endear you to her that you might want to add? A strong interest in the dark arts for instance.”

Harry hesitated.

Draco had no such compunctions and blabbed, “Harry’s a parselmouth.”

“Okay.”

Harry’s mouth nearly fell open in shock. After the response he received in his second year upon the revelation of his ability, he was expecting a much stronger reaction than just okay.

“Aren’t you going to say anything about that? Draco just revealed I could speak parseltongue and all you say is okay?”

Narcissa smirked, “I am a Black.”

As if that answered everything.

Well, actually, maybe it did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Just to clarify, I don’t necessarily hate Dumbledore, I just think he could have done a lot of things better. He did what he thought was best for the greater good but as the saying goes: the road to hell is paved with good intentions. The bit about the tenth anniversary of Dorea’s death is actually true (surprise!) – Dorea is said to have died in 1977 and at this point in the story, it is 1987. Also, this is a bit off tangent but I just love the Black family naming traditions. I find it absolutely fascinating and adore the multiple meanings and myths you can find behind a name.


	6. The Seated Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The introduction of another member of the (in)famous Most Ancient and Noble House of Black

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all its related characters belong to J.K. Rowling  
> AN: My dear readers, I’m so sorry for the extremely long wait for this chapter. I really have no excuse. That said, hope you enjoy!

Harry James Potter was _bored_. The Dursleys certainly lived up to all their pandering and pride about being normal – for they were exactly that, as well as extremely dull. Harry never thought he would say this, but he wished for literally _anything_ to happen just to break the bleak monotonous air that hung around him. Hell, he would take Vernon yelling just so he could amuse himself with his uncle’s face as he huffed and swelled in anger like some demented troll.

He sighed, flopping back listlessly onto the threadbare mattress. The Dursleys were so painfully predictable that he couldn’t even find fun in trying to guess their actions – Harry had their daily routine down to a tee.

The typical day at Number Four Privet Drive began with a horse kicking his cupboard door to wake him up to make breakfast. A whale and pig would then lumber and seat themselves at the table, grunting as they shovelled food down their throats (Harry spared a moment to wonder if a pig eating bacon could be considered cannibalism). The whale would spout off some steam about drills, the horse would whine about the neighbours, and the pig would squeal about brain-rotting activity of sorts while the whale and horse made appropriate noises of approval. Really, Harry mused, he was privy to front seats of the dumbest circus, it would be a wonder if he didn’t lose brain cells from witnessing such sights every day.

Harry was currently partaking in the second portion of a typical Dursley day: being shut up in his cupboard after completing his chores (the Dursleys subscribed to the belief of out of sight out of mind). He had already reimagined all his favourite Dursley moments from the original timeline in an attempt to stave off the boredom – pig-tailed Dudley, floating balloon Marge, Dudley eating Ton-Tongue Toffee. He was running out of creative new ideas to torture his relatives. At last count, he had about 56 different scenarios, each one infinitely more interesting than the cruciatus. Voldy and his Death Munchers were either the most uncreative bastards ever or had exceedingly limited spell repertoires.

Just as he was contemplating _Terrible Torture: Episode 57_ , the doorbell rang and the sound of Aunt Petunia shuffling around could be heard. Harry perked up. _She_ was due in a few days but if things had gone well perhaps…

“Oh hello, how might I help you?” Harry gagged at the sickeningly sweet simpering tone of the horse. It must have judged whoever was at the door to appear rich or important enough to warrant such _special_ treatment.

“Muggle, I am here to claim guardianship of one Harry James Potter. Fetch the boy and be gone.” Cassiopeia Black’s sharp, imperious tones cut over Petunia’s pandering.

“Y-Y-You’re one of them!”

“One of them? Muggle, did you not understand what I said? Very well, I shall repeat myself just this once so your feeble brain will be allowed another attempt to process. Fetch Harry Potter and then be gone.”

“Leave! The boy isn’t here!” Petunia shrieked, frantically trying to close the door to no avail.

“Tsk, foolish Muggle. _Petrificus Totalus. Point Me Harry Potter._ ” The sound of heeled boots clacking on the hardwood floor echoed across the hallway.

“ _Alohomora_.” The cupboard door swung open.

Cassiopeia Black stood tall and proud in polished boots, hair pulled back in a tight bun, wearing an obviously well-made black dress with tasteful lace detailing. Her entire demeanour screamed of nobility and upper-class, brow arched haughtily and chin tilted at an angle just so, regal as the queen she was named after.

“Hello, grand-nephew. I am Cassiopeia Black, of the _Most Ancient and Noble House of Black_ , your great-aunt. As Narcissa has persuaded me to, I am now your legal guardian. You may refer to me by Madam or Aunt Cassie. Now, come, I do not wish to linger in this filthy Muggle hovel for any longer than necessary.”

Slightly stunned by her imposing presence, Harry hastily replied, “Yes, Madam,” quickly following Cassiopeia.

Just before stepping out of the door, Harry hesitantly piped up, “Er, Aunt Cassie? I think you might want to unfreeze Petunia before we leave. If we leave her permanently frozen, _some people_ might start to meddle.”

Cassiopeia sniffed, looking highly reluctant but eventually relented, waving her wand.

Petunia immediately sagged to the ground, spluttering, “You can’t just take the boy! You can’t!”

“I am his proper legal, _magical_ guardian, I have every right to take him. Judging by the way you treat him, you don’t seem to want Harry at all. I don’t see any reason for you to be against this.” Cassiopeia gazed disinterestedly at Petunia, as if she was less than an insect who wasn’t even slightly worthy of her attention.

“B-But Dumbledore said—”

“ _Dumbledore_ ,” the name was sneered with the utmost disdain, “has no authority to be meddling in the affairs of others. I tire of this, let us leave.”

With that Cassiopeia turned and made to exit the door, before pausing, “Ah, my lawyers had advised that you be compensated for _caring_ for my grand-nephew. I do not see the value in your flimsy paper currency, but perhaps that is the only thing you Muggles are entitled to.”

Reaching into her pocket, Cassiopeia’s hand emerged with a thick wad of 1000-pound notes, tossing it onto the floor.

Petunia scrambled on her knees for the cash, eyes wide, and simpered, “O-Of course, we should receive proper compensation! We took the boy in out of the goodness of our hearts after all!”

Cassiopeia sneered, marching out in a swirl of black. Harry followed obediently.

Halfway across the street, he pouted a little, “Aunt Cassie, shouldn’t we have at least cursed Petunia a little? Maybe leave a timed-jinx that would turn Dudley into a pig?”

She stopped walking, turning to scrutinise Harry, a thoughtful expression on her face.

“You do have some Black blood in you after all! Besides, what makes you think I didn’t curse that cheap paper the Muggles call money?” Cackling, Cassiopeia looked smug as the cat that caught the canary.

Harry brightened. Maybe living with Cassiopeia Black wouldn’t be so bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I had a bit of trouble writing this chapter. It took 3 separate tries to finally get it out and I’m still not completely satisfied with it but I didn’t want to delay any longer than I already did. Let me know what you think and what areas I can improve on!


	7. Operation C.R.A.S.S.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The foursome enjoy tea and biscuits on a sunny patio while plotting murder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all its related characters belong to J.K. Rowling  
> AN: To make up for the long wait last time around, here's a new chapter! I had fun, this chapter practically wrote itself.

It was a beautiful day, the birds were chirping, the sun was shining brilliantly, with enough cloud cover that made it _just right_ for tea outside. Narcissa had insisted that it was too good weather to waste spending time in the indoor sitting room and even Cassiopeia was surprisingly amenable to spending the afternoon outdoors. So, the odd group of four found themselves on the same patio that Draco and Harry had met with Narcissa weeks before, sipping tea and savouring a tray of the most delightful biscuits.

All in all, it was the perfect setting to plot murder. Well, maybe not exactly murder, but the plans they made all involved one traitorous rat ending up _very dead_ (by which means _dead_ dead, not Voldy’s half-arsed death which involved having to kill far too many of his soul-bits before he _actually_ remained dead).

“Why, Lucius was just telling me this morning Dumbledore was at the Ministry making a ruckus about dear Harry being missing!” Narcissa chimed before taking a neat bite of her biscuit. If anyone were to pass by, they would be taking second (maybe even third) looks to confirm that they were indeed witnessing _The Boy Who Lived_ having tea with Cassiopeia Black and the Malfoys, gossiping away like old witches dissecting Rita Skeeter’s latest piece for _Witch Weekly_.

“Ha! That meddling old codger! Did he manage to get anything out of the Ministry? I don’t think his usual contacts would have been able to tell him much.” Draco inquired nosily, casually leaning closer to the table as if in preparation of hearing a great secret.

“From what I heard, Amelia Bones informed Dumbledore that as Headmaster of Hogwarts, a school which Harry has not even begun attending, he had no need nor right to know of his whereabouts. She then assured Dumbledore that Harry is perfectly safe and his legal guardian had been properly vetted by the Ministry, _unlike_ when _he_ left Harry in a basket on the doorstep of _Muggles_ in the middle of the night as an infant.”

“That ought to shut him up, Dumbledore never did like being reminded of his mistakes. He won’t be able to get anything out of that Muggle either, _that_ spell wasn’t the only one I left on those flimsy papers. Short of remembering that someone came to take Harry away, Dumbledore won’t get anything else even with the most advanced Legilimency techniques. Any pensieve memories he might obtain will be so clouded he won’t be able to see past his beard!” Cassiopeia gloated, eyes sinisterly bright, daintily taking a long sip of her Darjeeling.

Harry gracefully picked his teacup up and mused thoughtfully, “I’m actually surprised Dumbledore hasn’t come knocking at our door yet. I really don’t have many living magical relatives left. It isn’t that hard to narrow the options down.”

“Unless he wants his dirty laundry aired on the streets, Dumbledore knows better than to come after me.”

“Ooh, Aunt Cassie, we simply _have_ to compare blackmail notes on Dumbledore sometime. _Did you know,_ he and Grindelwald used to be _very close_ …”Harry trailed off suggestively.

“Oh, you _must_ tell me more! Put that knowledge of yours to good use!”

“Of course, Aunt Cassie, of course, in due time…”

They hadn’t meant to let Cassiopeia in on their little time-travelling secret, but she wasn’t just any witch, she was a _Black_ witch who was incredibly talented in sniffing out the best-kept secrets (her Black Book was testament to that fact). One little slip up was all it took to have a suspicious Cassiopeia on their tail and in the face of an angry torture book authoress, Harry and Draco caved and spilled.

Cassiopeia was actually pleasantly happy with the news. With the knowledge that she did not have to baby Harry as he wasn’t truly a child (at least mentally) and the promise of insider information on the Department of Mysteries, she let the boys off rather easily (a four hour grilling session was nothing coming from a witch who published a book on ten thousand ways to _legally_ torture someone, and she probably knew enough _illegal_ spells to fill another five books) for keeping such a big secret.

“I still think the best way to get the rat is to break into the Weasley household. Their wards will hardly be a problem and we won’t have to deal with them at all.” Cassiopeia adamantly defended her idea.

Draco proposed, “Harry could just knock on their door and ask for the damn rat. Harry Potter fanatics that the family are I’m sure they’ll happily give it to him wrapped in a _fresh pickled toad green_ bow to _match his eyes_.”

Narcissa gave her opinion, “Those Weasleys would alert Dumbledore right away and all the work we put into keeping him away would be naught if Harry turned up at the Weasleys doorsteps. I think we should…”

Harry piped in, “Well, _I_ think…”

The four of them went back and forth for the good part of half an hour before settling on a plan. They eventually decided that Cassiopeia would request a meeting with the Weasleys, stating that she had a matter of utmost importance to discuss with them. As someone who had largely been out of the country during the war with Voldemort, the Weasleys would not be as wary of her as compared to Narcissa, who was married to a known (although pardoned) Death Eater. She would then graciously offer them a hundred galleons (at Harry’s insistence because he had a soft spot for the Weasleys and the Potter and Black families were loaded anyway) for their pet rat. They would be able to obtain the rat without _too much_ fuss and the Weasleys would get some much needed gold – everyone wins (well except Dumbledore).

“We should totally come up with a name for this plan!” Harry cheerfully proclaimed while grabbing a biscuit from the tray.

“Hm, what about ‘P.P.S.S.’ for Poach Pettigrew Save Sirius?” Draco suggested, one finger stroking his chin as if in deep thought.

“We aren’t really poaching him though. Semantics are _very_ important. What about ‘capture’ instead?”

“I got it! ‘C.R.A.S.S.’ for Capture Rat And Save Sirius!”

“That’s brilliant! This plan shall henceforth be named Operation C.R.A.S.S.” Harry declared brightly, swiping the last biscuit from the tray.

“Boys,” Narcissa sighed exasperatedly, “perhaps a break would be in good order.”

* * *

 

That evening, the four reconvened in the grand dining room of Malfoy Manor to partake in a dinner of roast pheasant. Lucius had joined them but the Malfoy Head looked vaguely queasy and rather bewildered at the subject matter being discussed at his dining table (which was infinitely weirder considering the participants of said conversation).

“The Cruciatus Curse really isn’t the best spell for torture. I mean, it’s undeniably effective at causing pain but there are more creative and lasting ways to _hurt_ someone…”

“Hm, I suppose the Nightmare Curse might leave the victim more traumatised, what with the images that will plague them for weeks and months on end…”

“I myself am rather fond of a well-placed Bone-Breaking Curse. I discuss it in great detail in chapter fifty-two of my book…”

“I have to say I favour a nice silver dagger, it gives a more _personal touch_.”

The silverware glinted off the flickering candlelight of the chandelier overhead.

Lucius politely excused himself before dessert was served.

Narcissa patted her lips delicately with her napkin, “Oh dear, Draco be a darling and make sure your Father is alright.”

Ah, Black family bonding at its finest.

* * *

 

**Number Four Privet Drive, the day after Cassiopeia paid a visit:**

The horsey blond woman turned from the stove to greet her husband coming down the stairs. They had planned to go shopping for a holiday home with the large sum of money they had received the previous day.

_“Neigh, neigh!”_

Shocked, the lumbering man opened his mouth, _“Wheeew, wheew!”_

Twin looks of horror appeared on the man and woman’s faces.

Their son came barrelling down the stairs next, waving his meaty arms frantically.

_“Oink, oink, oink!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Bet some of you thought I forgot about the Dursleys! Their scene at the end was a lot shorter than I originally planned but I suppose it would be a waste to spend so many words on them. Let me know your thoughts!


	8. D-Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fun times with Aunt Cassie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all its related characters belong to J.K. Rowling  
> AN: Here’s a new chapter! This one was written as stress relief partly fuelled by frustration at work. I’m on my first job at a specialist clinic and boy, the sorts of people you meet. Like bitch please, I don’t care how rich you are or if your relative is also a doctor, if you’re at our clinic you follow the protocol, stop acting like a rude, entitled brat and understand that the world doesn’t revolve around you. Whew. I apologise for the rant, let’s get on with the story.

“Just to clarify, you are _actually_ offering us _a hundred galleons_ for our pet rat?” Arthur Weasley voiced incredulously, understandably lost at the turn the conversation had taken. The man looked simultaneously nervous and perplexed, like he had been presented a conundrum that he couldn’t wrap his head around no matter how hard he tried.

When he had received an owl from Cassiopeia Black requesting (more like demanding) a meeting to discuss an issue of utmost importance, the very last thing he expected was for her to express an interest in the family’s _seemingly_ normal rat (for that matter how she even _knew_ they had a pet rat was a mystery, it wasn’t exactly information one would advertise on the _Prophet_ ). Given her usual proclivities, she would surely be more invested in digging up some dirt to add to her ever-growing collection of blackmail rather than buying an old rat off a family for a ridiculous sum of money.

He was currently seated at the dining table with his wife peering anxiously at his shoulder, a small gaggle of red-headed children surrounding them, watching the stately Black witch with undisguised curiosity. A hundred galleons was no small sum of money and they were all no doubt wondering why a witch of her calibre would even want to purchase a rat (it wasn’t even an exotic animal) for that price.

Cassiopeia sniffed and intoned imperiously, “Yes, I am making you a most generous offer of a hundred galleons for the price of one rat that answers to the appellation ‘Scabbers’, acquired by your family in 1981.”

The Weasleys stared at her in silence, momentarily stunned. Yes, the negotiation was proceeding _wonderfully, absolutely splendid, everything_ was going according to plan.

Well, okay, maybe not, although Cassiopeia felt that she was already showing a great deal of restraint in not sneering at the rundown house, with its’ mismatched furniture and chickens ( _chickens!)_ running around in the yard. See, this was why _her_ plan was the best, but even she had to grudgingly admit that she was rather proud of the way her two nephews skilfully manipulated their way into getting what they wanted. Had she been anyone but a Black, she would have been blind to the way the boys were subtly pulling the strings, masterfully directing the conversation. Alas, she was a Black, and had practically grown up learning to talk in circles, but given how impressed she was with them, she let them get away with it and went along.

“Why’d you want Scabbers for anyway? He’s just a lazy old rat—”

“—that eats and sleeps all day.” The twin menaces piped up unhelpfully, their mother hurriedly shushing and reprimanding them for their manners.

“He will have his uses.” She replied vaguely, gazing at the twins with a calculating glint in her eye. They had _some_ potential, at least. It seemed that they had inherited some Black genes that evidently skipped both their parents after all.

“Ahem,” Arthur cleared his throat, “while I wouldn’t oppose to the deal, perhaps we should ask Percy for his opinion, after all Scabbers is his pet?”

Ah, Percy Weasley. The boy hadn’t even left for Hogwarts yet and was already giving off vibes similar to that of the stiff old warlocks (whom Cassiopeia delighted in collecting blackmail material to use against) that populated the Ministry. He reminded Cassiopeia strongly of Charis Crouch née Black’s son Bartemius – even as a young boy, he rarely smiled and was stoic as a rock. If possible, he was even worst as an adult, and was quite likely the stuffiest person she had ever met.

“Of course, I have absolutely no compunctions in giving up my pet to aid our family. Why, I would indeed be honoured to make this noble sacrifice…”

Only eleven and the boy had already perfected the art of how to sound like a boring Ministry bureaucrat, it would be no surprise to imagine where he would be headed after he graduated school. She could already picture it, he would be the type of eager young Ministry fool that took great pride in writing dull reports on standardising cauldron thickness. 

“Excellent,” Cassiopeia interrupted before young Percy could continue his never-ending monologue, nodding to the twins, “why don’t you two make yourselves useful and fetch the rat?”

“Would you—”

“—need us—”

“—to put him—”

“—in a box?”

“Oh no worries, I have just the thing. Just put him in here!” Cassiopeia proclaimed airily. With a flourish of her robes, she produced a seemingly innocuous glass jar (which had in fact, been charmed to hell and back—all members of the foursome had contributed their fair share of spells).

“Right-to—”

“—one rat coming right up!”

With that, the twins disappeared with the jar.

Cassiopeia smiled indulgently when they returned (it was rather disturbing but no one elected nor dared to say anything).

“Well, it was a pleasure doing business with you. Here is one hundred galleons as promised.” Setting down the black velvet pouch heavy with gold on the table, she picked the jar up and sailed out through the door, robes swishing dramatically.

“Take good care of him!” One of the children called after her.

“Oh, I will!” She promised (too) cheerfully, stepping over the threshold of the property before raising the jar to eye-level.

“We even planned a welcome party for you! I’m sure you will enjoy it very much, _Peter._ ”

The rat froze. Then started frantically squeaking up a storm and running around the jar in a pathetically futile attempt to escape.

Cackling, Cassiopeia turned on her heel and disapparated.

* * *

 

“That’s so not fair, I called dibs on getting the first go at the rat. I mean, it was _my_ life he ruined.” Harry whined, pouting adorably.

“You’re style is _way_ too messy. If you went first, the person going after you would have to waste time healing him before they even get to start on their turn.” Draco countered from his position opposite Harry, arms crossed, leaning against the casually.

“As the resident expert on torture and the one who acquired the rat in the first place, I think I get priority at having a go at the rat.” Cassiopeia was already twirling her wand between her fingers.

“Aunt Cassie can go first, then Draco, then Harry and I will be the one to go last, so that after I’m done I can heal the physical damage all at once and oblivate the rat before we tie him up in a nice bow to send over to Amelia Bones.” Narcissa, ever the mediator, said diplomatically.

The foursome was gathered in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor, outside the cell which housed one Peter Pettigrew, traitorous rat animagus. Said rat was currently grovelling on the cold stone floor of his newest residence, snivelling some nonsense about forgiveness that was being summarily ignored by all four members of the party.

“ _Avada Kedavra._ ” A flash of green light left Cassiopeia’s wand and struck the ground an inch from Pettigrew’s pathetic form.

The rat shrieked and threw himself forward, prostrating on all fours, mumbling what appeared to be a plea for mercy.

“Oops, I thought I saw a cockroach and wanted to get rid of it. We can’t let our _esteemed_ guest think that we were neglectful in the upkeep of his quarters.”

More inaudible blubbering came from the lump on the ground.

“Are you crying _already_? We can’t have that! This party is being thrown in your honour after all and we haven’t even started!”

Silence.

“Eww, do you think he actually pissed himself?”

“Urgh, I think he _fainted_.”

“ _Boys_ ,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Cassiopeia getting Pettigrew was originally planned to only take up a small portion of this chapter but once I got started writing it snowballed and this was the result. Regardless, I hope it’s good. Your thoughts/feedback would be most welcome!


	9. Extra! Extra!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The media reacts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all its related characters belong to J.K. Rowling  
> AN: Here’s another chapter! I just adore writing those Black family bonding moments :)

_“We would like to interrupt this broadcast of ‘Witty Wednesdays with Wanda’ on the Wizarding Wireless Network to bring you some breaking news! Peter Pettigrew, who was posthumously awarded an Order of Merlin after his supposed tragic death at the ends of Sirius Black, was found alive at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement’s doorsteps this morning! Sources say he was deposited tied in green ribbon, with the Dark Mark on his forearm. Stay tuned to find out the latest developments!”_

* * *

 

_4 September 1987_

_The Quibbler_

_PETER PETTIGREW: PEST PARADING AS PET?_

_The Chilling Tale of How One Finger Changed the Story_

_Xenophilius Lovegood_

_Six years ago, a singular finger found at the scene of crime that left twelve innocent Muggles dead condemned one man to cold dreary life in Azkaban while another was awarded with an Order of Merlin. But were punishment and reward correctly given out? Six years on from that fateful Halloween’s night, a most disturbing truth is revealed._

_Recent evidence has surfaced that a murderer has been hiding in our midst while an innocent man was left to suffer with the Dementors. The Secret-Keeper for the Potter family was not as everyone thought to be Sirius Black, known best friend of James Potter and Godfather of Harry Potter, but Peter Pettigrew, who was a Death Eater whom betrayed the trust of a family that called him a dear friend._

_More worrying is where this murderer has been hiding out before the truth was brought to light._

_Pettigrew was revealed to be an unregistered animagus, posing as a common house rat, living among unsuspecting wizards and witches._

_This raises some deep concerns over the safety of our society. What is our government doing to quell panic over Death Eaters roaming freely? Should they be worried if this is an isolated incident? What of Sirius Black? Hopefully, the populace’s questions will answered at the trials of Pettigrew and Black happening on the fifth and sixth of September respectively._

* * *

 

_4 September 1987_

_The Daily Prophet_

_DUMBLEDORE’S SIRIUS MISTAKES_

_Sinister Choices OR Follies of an Old Man?_

_Rita Skeeter_

_With recent revelations pointing towards Sirius Black’s innocence, the wizarding world is in uproar and questions are pouring from the populace. How was it that an innocent man was sentenced for a crime that he had never committed? How did the true culprit remain in hiding all these years and was even lauded as a war hero? What exactly was the esteemed Albus Dumbledore’s role in all this?_

_Well my dear readers, this lucky reporter was granted the opportunity for an exclusive with Harry Potter. Yes, I had the chance to speak with none other than the Boy-Who-Lived himself (the very same saviour whose recent change in guardianship sent Dumbledore knocking on the Ministry’s door in a flurry – more on that later) and what he has to share is shocking indeed._

_For us to properly paint the picture and gain a better understanding of how Dumbledore’s actions (or inactions) have contributed to the unfolding of events, we shall have to start from the beginning._

_We all know that towards the end of the war in 1981, the Potter family went into hiding, going so far as to apply the Fidelius Charm on their home in Godric’s Hollow. The Potters were known as prominent figures that fought against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, but so were many others—What then made it necessary for them to take such extreme measures to ensure their safety? Upon closer examination, it appears that Dumbledore had advised the Potters to do so but no one knows the reason why. What has the illustrious headmaster been keeping from us all this years?_

_Another disturbing thought follows next: If Dumbledore was the one who suggested the Potters go into hiding using the Fidelius Charm, wouldn’t he have known who the Secret Keeper was? Why then did he not speak up at Sirius Black’s trial? I asked as much, and was floored by the answer._

_HP: Uncle Sirius didn’t get a trial, he was just presumed to be guilty and thrown into Azkaban. He would have been able to prove his innocence if only he was given a chance. Plus, he’s my godfather, magical oaths aren’t taken lightly. In fact, if anything, he should be my guardian, not who Dumbledore left me with._

_My dear readers, yes your eyes are not mistaken, Sirius Black, last male heir to The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black, was condemned to Azkaban without receiving a chance to defend himself in court. If Dumbledore was as close a family friend to the Potters as he portrayed, he would have known that Black is young Harry’s godfather, and given the numerous titles he holds including Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, it would been a simple task of opening his mouth to save the life of one man._

_RS: You mentioned that Dumbledore was the one who left you to your previous guardians. Would you care to elaborate more on that?_

_HP: Yes, I’ve been told that it was by Dumbledore’s instructions that I was left under the care of my mother’s Muggle sister. Aunt Petunia often liked to remind me that I was left on her doorstep on a November morning with nothing but a letter written by Dumbledore saying that my parents had died and that she was to take me in._

_RS: He left you on their doorstep? How dreadful! I hope at least your Muggle relatives were kind to you._

_HP: Oh heavens no! They were the most terrible guardians one could have. They often beat and starved me, made me live in the cupboard under the stairs and punished me every time I did accidental magic._

_To say that I was horrified would be a severe understatement. Harry Potter, the saviour of the wizarding world, had been left at the hand of unloving, abusive Muggles. Mr Potter later assured me that he was alright now and that he was being treated very well by his current guardian, his great-aunt Cassiopeia Black. While that news gives me a little relief, I wonder if Dumbledore was aware of what sort of life he was condemning our Boy Saviour to._

_Once is a chance, twice is a coincidence, the third time is a pattern. One cannot help but think that Dumbledore’s decisions were deliberately made. Is the revered leader of the light not as white as he likes to paint himself to be? Were his mistakes simply just the follies of an old man or were they his sinister choices?_

* * *

 

The media fallout was fabulous.

No, that wasn’t right. It was _bloody fucking marvellous_ and would help fuel Harry and Draco’s Patronuses for years to come.

Even Rita Skeeter did a good job with her article (not that she would dared to do otherwise).

* * *

 

**A few days prior to the day the article was published:**

“Ah, Mr Potter, what a delightful young man you are. Come along, I have so many questions I’m dying to ask you!” Rita exclaimed, fishing a poisonous green quill out of her repulsive handbag.

“Thank you for the compliment Ms Skeeter, Aunt Cassie often tells me I’m very clever for my age!” Harry beamed angelically, face the perfect picture of youthful innocence.

Cassiopeia smiled indulgently at her grand-nephew, “Oh, Harry is absolutely delightful! Why the other day when I was teaching him potions, he came up with the most wonderful hypothesis! It was just after we received news about Pettigrew you see, and Harry asked if Pettigrew had died in his animagus form and was used as a potion ingredient if he would alter the properties of said potion.”

“It’s a great question! I mean Pettigrew’s base form is a human, so even as a rat he should retain some of his human properties. Would those properties affect the integrity of the potion? Perhaps cause it to go _boom_?”

“I know dear, it’s a pity animagus potion ingredients aren’t that easy to come by. I suppose we should start compiling a list of potions and ingredients to look out for, I think crushed beetles are some of the most common potion ingredients and we would be able to easily brew multiple batches for easy comparisons with those potions. Rita, why you’re a reporter aren’t you, won’t you happen to know any animagus beetles we could possibly obtain for research purposes?”

“Ooh, do you know any animagus beetles with markings? Watching the designs distort when crushing them is _so_ fun!”

Skeeter was pale as a ghost, laughing nervously before fishing in her handbag again, exclaiming with forced cheer, “O-Oh dear me, it appears my Quick-Quotes Quill is out of ink! We’ll just have to use another one I guess!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Let me know what you want to see more of!


	10. Courtroom Chaos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Draco poke fun at the old men on the Wizengamot. Jabs are made towards Dumbledore's mental capacity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all its related characters belong to J.K. Rowling  
> AN: Wow, I can’t believe we have actually reached the 10th chapter of this story. Between classes, work and my endless procrastination, I’m glad that I finally have something for my dear readers (even if it is a little shorter than I hoped). A big thank you to everyone who left kudos/comments! Seeing your responses always makes me happy :) Anyways, hope you enjoy this chapter!

The media was staring. Actually, scratch that, _everyone_ was staring. The reporters were eyeing Harry and the rest of the foursome like hungry jackals waiting to pounce on a particularly juicy piece of meat, practically salivating at the thought of such a wonderful meal. (Although it was worth noting that Rita Skeeter was strangely subdued, a rather sharp contrast to the highly accurate imitation of a vulture that she usually was.) Meanwhile, the rest of the wizards and witches present were partaking in the national hobby of Wizarding Britain (being busybodies) and watching with undisguised interest, not even bothering to hide their blatant observation or attempting to veil their curiosity with any semblance of subtlety.

The Harry of the original timeline would have shied away from the intense public scrutiny as soon as he could, but this time, he decided to have some _fun_ (because, _why not?_ ). He plastered the most charming and shit-eating grin he could muster, winking salaciously at whoever he made eye-contact with. The results were hilarious and ranged from the bewildered, wide-eyed expression of stuffy old warlocks to ancient biddies that swooned and hid their blushes behind their lace handkerchiefs (Harry had an on-going bet with Draco as to how many people he could scandalise, currently he was in the lead. Go Team Harry!).

While waiting for the trial to commence, in a bid to combat boredom, the boys also started an extremely _enlightening_ game of trying to guess the dirty secrets of the numerous old geezers that sat on the Wizengamot. As they whispered back and forth, throwing out the most outrageous suggestions, Aunt Cassie (with a gleam of pride in her eyes) occasionally chimed in to share a tiny tidbit of juicy gossip and even though Narcissa pretended to be mad at their quiet snickering, the tiny upward curve of her lips belied her amusement.

All in all, the day was going fantastic. And it was only going to get even better (Harry was mentally cackling and rubbing his palms in glee at the prospect).

As if on cue, a hush fell over the crowd as a figure dressed in the most obscenely garish robes swept into the room. Dumbledore peered through his signature half-moon glasses, surveying the sea of people, his gaze locking on his target, before confidently making his way to where the foursome was seated.

Harry and Draco exchanged matching smirks.

Dumbledore really had the benevolent grandfather look down to the tee, Harry mused as he watched him approach. The serene, kindly smile that he wore, paired with the ever-twinkling blue eyes, all contributed to the aura of a powerful wizard that one could not easily refuse without feeling some modicum of guilt. Too bad Harry had no such qualms.

“Harry, my dear boy—”

“Aunt Cassie, why is this strangely dressed wizard referring to me with such familiarity? I don’t ever recall meeting him. Is he perhaps not right in the head?” Harry had an expression of discomfort and confusion plastered across his face, gaze wary as he frowned at Dumbledore, who appeared mildly stunned at the turn of events and gaped like a fish.

Cameras flashed. Harry resisted the urge to smirk – it was still too early in the game.

“Actually, my dear boy—” Dumbledore recovered fast, Harry had to give him that.

“I don’t believe Harry has given permission to you to address him as such, _please_ refrain from doing so.” Narcissa’s frosty tone interrupted before Dumbledore had a chance to say more, her request sounding more like a demand.

“Well said, Cissy. _This_ , Harry dearest, is the _esteemed_ headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore. Though you might be quite right in insinuating his mind isn’t all there these days. Could it be that your age is catching up to you _Headmaster_? Oh goodness me, how _dreadful_!” Cassiopeia’s eyes shone with a predatory gleam and her voiced was _absolutely_ _dripping with sympathy_.  

Harry immediately turned to Dumbledore, an appropriately contrite look on his features, “Oh, I’m so sorry I didn’t recognise you sir! I don’t mean any disrespect. It’s just that with robes like that, I thought you might have escaped from the Janus Thickey ward in St. Mungos, you see.”

Dumbledore looked like he was visibly suppressing the twitch in his eye from the repeated digs at his mental capacity, though he continued to shoulder on with an impressive display of control.

“I was just worried for young Harry here, it must be incredibly overwhelming for him. I just wished to express my concern.”

Narcissa pounced without the slightest delay, “Why, thank you Headmaster. Harry is perfectly _safe, healthy and happy_. I wonder if you show such _great_ care for your _current_ students as well, I imagine they would much appreciate your help what with the things happening in Hogwarts. Students sleepwalking into the forbidden forest, cursed ice appearing all over the castle and an infestation of Boggarts…I must admit the level of safety is giving me second thoughts about sending the boys to Hogwarts…”

“That sounds dangerous. Aunt Cassie, could Draco and I attend Durmstrang instead?”

Draco chimed in, “Or Beauxbatons! France sounds good.”

“Or Ilvermorny! Though it is a little far…”

Dumbledore was starting to show signs of panic, “It is imperative that Mr Potter remains in Britain for his education!”

“Oh?”, Cassiopeia arched a brow, “How strange for the headmaster to take such a vested interest in an individual who has no obligations to you and is at perfect liberty to make his decisions regarding his own education. Is there something you are hiding yet again? Perhaps, _for the greater good_?”

_That_ shut Dumbledore up.

More cameras flashed. Quills frantically scratched away at parchment. Harry and Draco high-fived each other under the seats.

* * *

 

The trial went about as expected.

Pettigrew was brought in and confessed to his crimes under Veritaserum. The crowd was properly scandalised. Cue gasps and murmuring.

Sirius was brought in and proclaimed his innocence under Veritaserum. The crowd was properly scandalised. Cue _more_ gasps and murmuring.

Draco was once again left astounded by the collective intelligence of the wizarding population. For all they prided themselves on being superior, they possessed astonishingly few brain cells. It was a wonder that they even managed to figure out the correct way to point their wands and not blow themselves up.

He was shaken out of his thoughts when a newly pardoned Sirius Black approached them, still looking like he couldn’t believe what was happening.

“H-Hello, Harry. I-I’m not sure you remember, but I’m Sirius Black, your—”

“Hey Dogfather!”

Sirius had the expression of a deer in the headlights before he burst into tears and promptly started bawling in earnest.

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose and stifled the impulse to give Harry a good whack in the head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Yes I do play Hogwarts Mystery (though I’m not really that invested in it and its really just to kill time on the train/bus). The bits that Narcissa mentions about sleepwalking students, cursed ice and boggarts is taken from the game’s storyline (it’s currently 1987 in the story so the MC would be starting their 4th year in-game).

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Reviews and constructive feedback are welcome!


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